


Where Ocean Meets the Land

by Rubia_Elliora



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 00:55:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19162516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubia_Elliora/pseuds/Rubia_Elliora
Summary: The last shard had been dropped. The subtle ghost it became in the water had faded. It was time to go—back to crisp lines.Something moved in the deep. The man blinked...





	Where Ocean Meets the Land

**Author's Note:**

> If you're familiar with my stories of past (on other accounts), you may recognise these two characters. This was my first attempt at flash fiction (1k words and under). It was a challenge, given my usually wordy style.
> 
> Love, Becs

He was a misplaced fragment and thoroughly aware of it.

All crisp lines, combed hair, steam pressed, and a face that could cut rock.

This place was unpredictable nourishment. Rolling green that peaked to cliffs, enclosing this body of water in a maternal hug. The sea beyond was the very essence of a chaotic universe, secrets wrapped within uncertainty.

The man felt alive. _That_ was rare.

The rigid soles of his boots met the weather-worn planks of the jetty. Under his arm was a small box. A moment passed as he absorbed this haven—golden sun streaming down like it always did on this day, and the sky a mirror to the clear open water beneath.

Taking nature’s unpredictable example, the man knelt. He placed the box carefully to one side before he lay on his stomach, head hanging over the last plank of the walkway—a child looking for fish.

Propped on an elbow, the man opened the lid of the box. Elegant fingers plucked one shard of porcelain from the mass that lay within. A cup, broken beyond repair.

Every year, on her birthday, he did this—in this very spot. Regressing to childhood, to the last time he’d seen her, and demolishing something so extremely fragile, a new cup sacrificed each spring, only to drop those pieces here. In her memory.

It brought him comfort. A comfort that all who knew him would swear he couldn’t possibly need, because they only saw crisp lines.

The shard was dropped, meeting the water and sending ripples over the waves. It spun and twisted until it disappeared. In his mind it still danced. In his mind all those pieces danced together, mending themselves.

Maybe she danced like this, in a realm he couldn’t see.

Maybe her broken life was reforged elsewhere.

He picked up the second shard.

* * *

Fingers tugged at the chord. On the third pull it gave, untangling itself from the crab’s claw. It flexed its pincer and dithered—a gesture that could have been gratitude. Then it scurried away.

The merman was content, smiling as he reclined and flexed his tail; the seabed at his back and azure sky stretching out over the crystalline roof of his home. Lazy bubbles escaped his lips, swirling to the surface. But peace was interrupted as ripples appeared, traveling counter to the waves. He frowned.

_The man was here._

The thought only had to present itself before he was moving, darting through the shallows to a jagged boulder that sat at the neck of the inlet—the perfect lookout. Peering across the water, he saw him. Like every year, the man was stretched out on the jetty, solemnly dropping fragment after fragment into the water below.

He’d felt anger first, at the behaviour. But as he observed—year after year—he felt at a deep sorrow that was rooted in this peculiar man, unlike anything he’d experienced, or anyone he’d helped before.

It was time to do what he could for this broken soul.

The merman plunged deep, his entirety knowing the coordinates that a compelling ache drew him towards. He was intimate with every inch of the terrain and every animal that called it home. Rolling aside a granite stone that was a marker, his fingers dug at hard-packed sand. Three inches deep and a white circle was exposed. With a little more work, he eased the precious thing from its resting place and brushed off the grit that clung to the porcelain.

Nerves made a maelstrom within as he hastened towards the jetty.

* * *

The last shard had been dropped. The subtle ghost it became in the water had faded. It was time to go—back to crisp lines.

Something moved in the deep. The man blinked; his imagination played games in this other-world. There was a magic present that would suspend reality. It’s why he’d returned. It was why he’d made this ritual.

But there _was_ something. A pale roundness; the moon bathing in the sea. It was rising fast before it wasn’t a moon anymore. It became a face.

The realisation hit at the same time the face broke free, water spraying in all directions at this being’s emergence.

The man froze, unperturbed by the water on his face. As stupefied as he was at the apparition, his mind accepted with no qualms the swirl of maroon scales that glinted where legs should be and gills that flowed down an elegant neck.

One large hand grasped the edge of the pier, its twin reaching to place something beside him. But he was hypnotized, gaze unwilling to roam anywhere but the flesh of this creature: dark hair plastered to translucent skin and eyes that glinted blue and gold and orange—the sunset over the sea.

They found stalemate, where ocean met the land. The man’s awe was reflected, birthing a tenuous bond of intimacy. Nothing else existed. The being’s lips trembled and moved soundlessly. If he could talk, it wouldn’t be today.

Just as a foolish inquisitiveness ensnared the man enough to reach out—every sense suddenly desperate to know the curves of marble this creature was carved from—fingers unanchored and he slipped away.

A final flash of maroon was the farewell given.

Time became liquid, flowing around the man, as he stared at the place the being had occupied. Sorrow saturated the moment when the spell holding this realm still shattered, but need and curiosity outweighed stupor.

Sitting up, he focussed on what had been gifted. The tear that slid down his face shifted the world like an earthquake. He hadn’t cried since _she’d_ shattered.

Gingerly, he picked up the artefact. A substance that sparkled blue and gold made a web across the white surface. And, when he looked closer, the webbing mapped out the edges of shards. Each and every fragment joined carefully together, to reforge the thing it had been—exactly one year ago to this day.

And the cup was whole.  

 


End file.
